


My Reluctant Valentine

by bry0psida



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: First Dates, I wish I knew how to tag, M/M, Mutual Pining, No smut but the aftermath, One Shot, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:54:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22603543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bry0psida/pseuds/bry0psida
Summary: The rules are unspoken but clear, established through trial and error. No dates, no kissing on the mouth, no ‘hanging out’ without sex, drugs, or alcohol involved. No note passing, no flirting, no unnecessary touching, no hints at familiarity with each other in public. Steve knows where the lines are and does his best not to cross them. Until now, that is.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington/Billy Hargrove
Comments: 18
Kudos: 201





	My Reluctant Valentine

**Author's Note:**

> Happy V day, y'all! Enjoy.

Billy Hargrove has a lot of guilty pleasures. Steve is one of them, apparently.

The rules are unspoken but clear, established through trial and error. No dates, no kissing on the mouth, no ‘hanging out’ without sex, drugs, or alcohol involved. No note passing, no flirting, no unnecessary touching, no hints at familiarity with each other in public. Steve knows where the lines are and does his best not to cross them. Until now, that is.

It’s far from ideal, Steve’s about had it with the state of their tacit arrangement. It’s not the secrecy. Steve could handle a secret relationship. It would still suck on some level, but at least the affection would be clearly reciprocated. This is just sex, only sex, and it will only ever be sex, according to Billy. Steve wonders, though. Even though Billy sneaks out every morning when he stays the night without meaning to (an occurrence that is only becoming more frequent), he lingers. Plays with Steve’s hair or strokes his face when he thinks Steve is still asleep.

Sometimes he comes over and they don’t even fuck, just shoot the shit over a couple beers, forgotten cigarettes burning to ash in their hands. And sometimes Steve catches Billy staring in class. Billy’s always quick to look away. Steve is always quick to notice the start of a blush.

It’s easy to get caught up. Billy is clearly repressed, horribly so. It’s a surprise, considering where he’s from. This is more likely than not new to Steve in a way it isn’t to Billy, yet he’s the one with all the hang ups. Can’t come over without an excuse, won’t see Steve without some kind of drug being involved.

It’s not sustainable. Steve can’t maintain a relationship like this, not when he has feelings, and oh _boy_ has Steve caught feelings. He caught feelings the fucking moment he saw Billy roar into the school parking lot like he was in an MTV music video and not in Hawkins Indiana.

It hurt, when Nancy told him she didn’t love him. It was also kind of a relief, ‘cause Steve had been wondering since that first day. Daydreaming, fantasising. It was nice to know he didn’t have anything to feel guilty for, in the end. Can’t really dream cheat on someone who doesn’t love you back.

Valentines Day is coming up. Billy will hate it, there’s no doubt about that. He hates _‘all that capitalist crap, it’s just a scam.’_ Steve’s a big sap and a hopeless romantic, providing he’s not single it’s his favourite day of the year.

If they’re doomed, Steve might as well take a chance. He’s getting to the end of his rope with the meaningless sex. Like, it’s good. It’s easily the best sex Steve has ever had, but he knows he deserves better than someone who won’t kiss, but will take a dick up the ass. Like, what, all that wasn’t gay, but this is? No thanks.

So Steve comes up with a plan, goes all out. He doesn’t buy the cutesy shit girls like (which Steve secretly also likes,) and tries to make it personal for Billy.

…

Billy thought he’d made it clear, multiple times, that just because they were gonna hang out on Valentines Day does not make it a date. It’s just another Saturday that Billy’s got nothing (and no one) better to do.

Steve thinks he’s subtle, but he’s really, really not. Lounging against his dad’s beemer in the jeans that make his ass look like a god damn peach, wearing a red sweater that brings out the pink in his winter flush, hair defying gravity. He’s dressed up for this and they both know it.

Steve’s face lights up whenever he sees Billy. It’s a considerable effort for Billy to restrain himself in those moments.

“Billy!” Steve says, smiling wide. He falters at his own enthusiasm, unsure whether it’s wanted or welcome. It makes Billy’s chest ache.

He slips Steve a rare and genuine smile, he’s only human. “Harrington.”

They stop about half a foot from each other, uncertain. Usually they’re inside by now, rutting up against the wall or heading to the kitchen to get a beer. Usually, Steve isn’t waiting outside. Granted, he waits on the bottom step of the stairs staring at the door, but still. They don’t _go out._ But Steve _just wanted to show you some of the nicer spots in Hawkins. I know you don’t like being stuck here, so maybe it’ll help if you know where the best places are._

It’s fucking touching, is what it is. Billy’s pretty sure he’s gonna hate whatever Steve shows him on principle, cause Hawkins sucks, Indiana sucks, and it’s the middle of February. There’s a light frost on the ground, the mud is a little frozen and every breath still mists in the air and burns Billy’s nose. Everything is dead right now save the evergreens. Billy is used to palm trees and dry heat. Plants that never die, only wilt.

Billy doesn’t like being driven around. The only upside is it’s not a hassle to change the music.

Billy’s grabs a tape from the camaro and sticks it in his pocket, ‘cause he’s not making chit chat with Harrington if at least one joint isn’t involved. Was tempted to grab some Mötley Crüe but knew Steve wouldn’t appreciate it, so he settled for some Bryan Adams instead. Compromise.

They get in the car after an awkward silence. They have a lot of those, like neither of them are sure whether they want to stick to the rules or do what they _really_ want.

Billy’s whipping the tape out of his jacket just as Steve is slipping something into the tape deck.

He hides the tape before Steve can see it. “What’s this?”

“The Who,” huh. Billy always assumed Steve had shitty taste in music.

“What album?”

“Who’s next,”

“Didn’t take you for a Who man,”

“I’m chock full of surprises,”

…

It’s a short drive to Lake Jordan. Billy’s not been here before. He follows Steve when he gets out, leaves the engine idling.

“We’re not gonna stay long, it’s not the nicest spot.” Steve says, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. “No one really comes here unless they’re fishing. Ice is thick enough for it, but like, hardly anyone ice fishes around here, so it’s a good spot if you just wanna be alone.”

Steve’s a fucking sweetheart, way too good for Billy. He needs to realise that.

“I’ve already got the Quarry,”

Steve turns, hair blowing in the frigid wind. “Quarry is good in winter, come spring all the juniors’ll be up there lighting bonfires and partying. And plenty of people still go there to party, even when it’s cold and school is on. Not always good for getting away.”

Billy feels something pull in his chest. “Who says I need to get away?”

“Everyone needs to get away, sometimes. C’mon.” Steve bumps Billy’s shoulders lightly on the way past. Billy stares out across the frozen lake for a few moments, tells himself it’s to be polite to Steve and not because it’s actually kind of beautiful, watching the start of the setting sun beat down on the ice and bounce back off the water where the sheet is broken.

Steve looks pleased with himself when Billy gets back in the car. Billy ignores him, just raids the packet of cigarettes on the dashboard and lights up. The tape plays. Roger Daltrey sings about all the things he’d do for his lover. Billy tries not to feel inadequate.

…

They pull into the Quarry before too long. “Been here plenty of times, Steve.”

“Ah, but have you found the cave?”

“The what?”

The car bumps with the gravel as Steve winds along the stony roads. “There’s a crack in the rock face, if you squeeze through it opens up into a little cave. It’s cool as shit in there.”

It doesn’t sound cool as shit. Billy was claustrophobic as a kid, Neil routinely locked him in closets. It’s mostly gone, Billy stills gets a little short of breath when he’s in too small of an enclosed space.

Billy’s finding it harder to breathe as the car stops. Steve gets out first, opens Billy’s door for him. Billy doesn’t get out, just looks.

The crack in the rock face is tight. Steve slips in without hesitation, just disappears into the wall without a word.

Billy wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans and argues with himself. Steve is doing a nice thing. Billy should at least _try_ to go look. And ok, he doesn’t have the freak outs anymore, but shit, what if this time he _does?_

Steve reappears beside the car. Billy must not be doing a good job of keeping his cool, ‘cause Steve crouches down beside the open door and gets a hand on Billy’s knee.

“You ok, tiger? Looking a little pale.”

Billy contemplates lying. The cons outweigh the pros. “Been better.”

“What’s wrong?”

He wants a cigarette. Cigarettes make the panicking worse when he’s already had one recently. “I’m, uh. I’m not good with tight spaces.”

“I’ve heard of that! Closetpho- no, that’s not it. Clawstro-“

Billy finishes for him. “Claustrophobia. I don’t have it anymore.” Steve arches a brow at him. “Mostly.”

Steve nods slow, considering the information. “Alright. Well, you don’t have to go in. I’ve got plenty of other stuff to show you.” Steve leaves Billy’s side and gets back into the car. “Pretty sure Jonathan has pictures somewhere. Could always borrow them if you’re interested. Or-or not, whatever. It’s fine.”

In spite of how considerate he’s being, Billy knows Steve is disappointed. His face isn’t the most expressive, but Billy knows how to read people. In moments like these, it’s more a hindrance than an asset. Billy fucking hates disappointing Steve. It’s why they have all these rules in the first place.

He takes a deep breath in through his nose, sighs it out. “How small is it in there?”

Steve perks up. “Oh! It’s not small. It’s like, the size of my living room.”

Billy nods. “And that crack, how far in does it go?”

“It takes less than ten seconds to squeeze through,”

“Can you feel the walls pressing on you?”

“I can’t, but you probably will.”

Fuck it. Billy gets out of the car, heads for the hole in the wall before he can lose his nerve. Steve calls his name higher than usual, nervous. Billy swallows the fear creeping up his throat and starts squeezing through.

Its a fucking bad ten seconds. The walls are squeezing right up against the muscle on his back and chest, Billy can feel his hair almost getting snagged against the rock.

He’s out before full panic can set in. He flops down on his ass, gets his head between his knees and just breathes for a moment, waits for his heart to stop throwing itself against the cage of his ribs.

Steve’s crouched down again beside Billy in no time. “Are you ok?”

“Will be in a minute,”

Steve stays on the floor with him, rubs uncertain circles into Billy’s back. His palm feels hot through the denim. Billy can’t really feel the heat of him, it’s the suggestion of it that’s got him burning. The excitement over broken rules quickly overrides the residual fear. Billy stands.

Steve sighs all dramatic when he does, retracting his hand. “You didn’t have to come look.” He says, voice thoughtful.

“I wanted to,” Billy tells him, uncharacteristically earnest.

Billy was wrong, it is cool as shit. There’s a little stream dripping from the wall and trickling through the floor, disappearing into a fissure. Billy can hear the quiet, rhythmic splash of it hitting more water somewhere below. It’s soothing.

The whole space is damp, walls shiny with water. There’s a fine coating of moss scattered throughout the space. There’s a crack in the ceiling for waning sunlight to stream through. It bounces off the moving water, reflecting moving patterns onto the walls and Steve’s delighted face.

It’s beautiful in here. Billy doesn’t know what to say, wants nothing more than to hug Steve, whisper gratitude into his long neck.

But they don’t do shit like that. And they’ve broken a lot of rules in such a short space of time already. So Billy just looks instead.

…

They stay in there for a little while. Billy’s more than content with watching the water and stroking over the moss. It’s Steve who drags him out eventually. _You don’t wanna miss the sunset, trust me._

Getting out is easier than getting in. Billy knows what to expect now. Steve is quick to light a cigarette and get it between Billy’s lips as soon as they’re in the car, presumably to keep him calm. Sweet idiot.

The drive to Lover’s Lake is quiet. Steve doesn’t need to tell Billy where they’re going, it’s glaringly obvious. Billy just looks at him when they pull into the dirt parking lot.

“Really, Steve?”

“I didn’t bring you here to neck! Or fuck, or whatever. It’s just nice here.”

It is nice, much to Billy’s surprise. There’s a lot of tall grass and encroaching trees, Billy spots a tire swing and a little fishing dock. They walk along the border of the lake in companionable silence.

“Do people fish here, too?” Billy asks about halfway round.

“Nah, Jordan’s bigger. People take little boats out here and have picnics on the water.”

Billy would never admit how much he likes that idea.

…

They drive slow along the Eno river. Behind Blue Eyes plays as they traverse the length of it. The lyrics feel a little too poignant.

The car stops at Loch Nora, they’re right on time for the best of the sunset. Billy heads to the edge of the water, Steve heads for the trunk. Billy doesn’t ask, just waits, lets the waning sunlight warm his exposed skin.

Steve clears his throat, Billy turns. The bundle in Steve’s arms is somewhat surprising. He’s got a picnic basket, one of those special camping blankets, a boombox balanced on the top and a bottle of wine in one hand.

“I, uh,” Steve clears his throat again. He swallows a lot when he’s nervous, Billy watches the bob of his long throat with carefully contained amusement. “I know you said this isn’t a date, and I know this _looks_ like a date, but friends can have picnics and get drunk too, right?”

“Friends? Is that what we are?” Billy does his best to keep his tone curious and not scolding.

Steve shrugs. “It’s less of a mouthful than guys who fuck sometimes and don’t talk about it.”

Billy snorts. “Fair enough.” He takes the bottle and boombox out of Steve’s hands so he can’t drop them. “Where we doing this?”

Steve presses his lips together in a desperate attempt to not betray how pleased he is, can’t quite keep the corners of his mouth from twitching. It’s cute. Everything Steve does is so fucking cute.

Steve walks as he talks. “There’s a clearing. More grass and trees, less mud. It’s a good spot to get baked.”

“Did you bring any?”

“Of course,”

Billy grins at his back. “Always coming through with the good stuff, Harrington.”

Steve puts the basket down on the grass and shakes out the blanket. Billy deposits the boombox and wine next to it in favour of rifling through the contents, is a little taken aback when he sees what’s inside. Billy was expecting, like, junk food. Maybe tupperware leftovers. Not a whole _meal_. Steve _cooked_ this for them.

It’s a lot. Billy’s eyes are prickling. He fiddles with the boombox to distract himself.

“Is there already a tape in here?”

“Oh, yeah. You might not like it though. I just picked it ‘cause it’s chill.”

Billy presses play. An array of acoustic and electric guitar start strumming something soft. “Who’s this?”

“George Harrison,”

Huh. “You know, I always assumed you had shitty taste in music.” Billy says as he reclines on the blanket.

Steve plops down next to him, works the cork out of the wine. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Poppy crap like Wham! and Journey.”

Steve laughs before taking a big swig of wine. “Oh god, no.”

Billy grabs the bottle and takes a drink, watches Steve get the food on paper plates out the corner of his eye. It looks like a lot of little dishes that all go together. Finger food but good.

“We should do this with takeout,” Billy says before he can stop himself. “It’d be nice if the food was warm.” He regrets it immediately when Steve’s head whips around to gawk at him.

“I mean, you could always…” Steve rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “You could just come over for dinner.”

Billy takes the offered plate and cutlery, pops some pasta in his mouth in lieu of answering. Steve doesn’t press, seems to regret his comment as much as Billy does his own. The silence that descends is awkward as usual, less so for the music and the excuse to eat instead of talk.

It’s good food. Like, really good. Billy can’t believe how good it is. Won’t stop telling Steve till a joint is shoved between his lips and lit. Billy takes a deep hit and blows the smoke up at the canopy of trees.

“Seriously, man. That was all great.”

Steve’s blushing something fierce. “Thanks.”

“No no, thank _you.”_

Steve just laughs and plucks the joint from Billy’s lips.

“You’re not going to college, right?” Billy asks.

“Nah,”

“Know what you’re gonna do after graduation?” Steve shrugs, hits the joint again before passing it back. “You could go to catering school, you know.”

Steve flicks Billy’s shoulder. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious,”

“You’re _high,”_

Billy wiggles his eyebrows. “Not yet.”

Steve laughs more. He puts so much into a laugh. Always throws his head back, eyes sparkling. It’s one of Billy’s favourite things, making Steve laugh.

…

Billy’s just starting to sober up when Steve holds out a little white paper bag. “I…I got something for you.”

Billy’s reluctant to take it, he really doesn’t want to get Steve’s hopes up. “What is it?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Just open it, Billy.”

Billy huffs but does as he’s told. It’s an earring set. Silver studs with tiny feathers on a short chain. They’re really fucking nice. Billy can’t accept them.

“Steve-“

“-Look,”

They both stop, then laugh, all breath.

“I know what you’re going to say already,” Steve says, wringing his hands. “So I’d like it if I could just say my thing first.”

Billy puts the earrings back in the bag, then puts that on the blanket. “Ok.”

Steve takes a deep breath, and then another. And another. He’s so nervous his hands are shaking a little, throat bobbing. Billy resists the urge to comfort him. Wouldn’t even know how to.

“I like you. Like, I _really_ like you. And I know this is all just sex for you, and that’s _fine_ , or- it was fine, but I can’t just have sex with you anymore. So I thought- it’s stupid, really. I saw the earrings in some store and I knew they’d look nice on you, but I thought they’d look nice on me, too. And I thought, if you wanted more too, we could, um. We could each wear one. That way no one else would know, but we’d know.” Billy blinks. It’s not a secret, that Steve wants more. It’s been eating away at Billy’s selective conscience. Steve doesn’t take the lack of a response well, corners of his mouth turning down in his self deprecative smile. “It’s stupid, I’m stupid.”

“Your ears aren’t pierced,” It feels like the wrong thing to say, but Steve grins.

“I’d get one pierced,”

At some point, Billy lost track of why he’s kept these rules in place. He’s caught feelings, and holding Steve at arms length isn’t doing anything to change that. Maybe it was Billy all along that needed to realise, whatever he might think of himself, Steve clearly thinks he’s good enough to keep.

He crawls the short distance between them, rubs a thumb over each of Steve’s earlobes. “Yeah?”

Steve leans into the touch, eyes fluttering shut as he exhales, _“Yes.”_

It’s always heady, watching the way Steve melts under Billy’s touch. “Do you have plans tomorrow?” Billy asks, stroking over the shell of one ear, tugging on the lobe of the other.

“Not yet,”

“Then lets go get that piercing,”

Steve’s eyes open. His mouth curls into a lazy smile, hands finding Billy’s waist as he leans in.

It’s been a long time since Billy last kissed anyone. Steve keeps it chaste, just a few light pecks that leave Billy desperate for more, chasing him each time he pulls away. Billy must look as desperate as he feels, because Steve follows up a PG 13 kiss with:

“I have the stuff in my car,”

They’ve not fucked in Steve’s dad’s car yet. Billy jumps at the chance to desecrate the space.

…

Steve collapses on top of Billy, the way he’s wanted to for months. It’s such a relief to be able to do this, now. Billy’s legs are still bracketing Steve’s waist, hands locked in Steve’s hair as he continues to pant, then laugh, then press kisses into Steve’s sweaty neck.

“Wanted this for so long,” Steve mumbles into the headrest.

Billy shifts underneath him, feet coming back down to the reclined seat as Steve slips out, soft.

“Me too. Hand me a cigarette?”

Steve groans, does as he’s asked when Billy smacks him on the ass, hard enough to sting. Billy is a vision when Steve turns back to him, perpetually tanned skin shining with sweat, curls fanned around his head like he put them there. Maybe he did.

Billy plucks the pack from Steve’s hands, leans up on an elbow to stick one between Steve’s lips and another between his own. Steve gets with the program and lights them.

“See something you like?” Billy teases as he lays back again, pillowing his head on a forearm. The end of the cigarette burns orange as the sunset when Billy takes a drag, illuminating his whole face for just a moment. He’s so beautiful.

Steve wants to tell him, then remembers he’s allowed to. So he does. Billy’s rolls his eyes and smiles as he mutters _I know_. Steve gets a similar reaction when he draws a heart shot with an arrow on the fogged up window with _S+B_ in the middle.

It’s corny, and childish, and romantic. It’s everything Steve didn’t dare hope for.

…

Steve’s ear is throbbing as Billy drives him home. He can’t stop looking at Billy’s earring, then touching his own and grinning as something warm makes a home in his chest. He stops when Billy smacks his hand away.

“Keep touching it with those dirty fingers and it’ll get infected,”

“How d’you know they’re dirty?”

“‘Cause you’ve been touching me, and we both know I’m a dirty bastard.” Billy licks his own teeth for emphasis.

Steve touches it again, just because. Billy catches Steve’s hand and interlaces their fingers over the stick shift, Billy tapping out the beat of Whitesnake’s Here I Go Again on Steve’s curled fingers.

They pull into Steve’s driveway as the song ends. Steve retracts his hand.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,”

Billy kills the engine. “I’m coming in.”

“You are?”

Billy jerks his chin in Steve’s general direction. “Gotta show you how to clean it.”

“The piercing lady showed me how,”

“No, she _told_ you how. Those aren’t the same thing for you.”

Steve didn’t realise Billy noticed things about him, too. He doesn’t have long to bask in the knowledge before Billy’s opening the door with an impatient _you coming or not, princess?_

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted to participate in the week of love, but I left it all a little too last minute, and I'd already sunk a lot of time into this. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
